


who is the lamb?

by crickets



Category: Lost
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-20
Updated: 2010-04-20
Packaged: 2017-10-20 04:05:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/208552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crickets/pseuds/crickets





	who is the lamb?

Jack understands it will be the two of them in the end -- that there is some reason Claire never left the island in the first place, why he knew he had to return. He's not sure he will ever truly understand the reasons, but at the end, when the rest are buried in the ground, it's he and Claire who are left standing.

They hold services for every soul, every friend, every enemy.

Jack chokes on his words as he speaks over Sawyer's grave, loses the ability to make a sound.

His sister reaches for his hand.

-

Nothing's really changed for Claire. She's been left alone too long in this place, has even learned to call it her home.

Jack seems confused, angry, tired -- all of the things she remembers feeling when he left her there so long ago.

"Don't worry, Jack," she tells him. "Just follow the trees, that's what I do."

Jack looks at her a moment, allows himself to smile.

He doesn't get it, she knows.

Not yet.

-

Jack wonders if she's still all there. She says things he doesn't understand, kisses him on the lips too long, walks around with the same dirt marks on her face for days until the rain washes her clean. He stops asking questions and follows her lead. She knows this place better than anyone alive, and for once that's a truth he understands with complete clarity.

One night they sit by the fire, bellies full, and Claire reaches for a blade. Jack watches her as she pulls her hair tight and begins to shear it off, throwing the bits into the flames until her locks are shoulder length at most. The stench of burning strands is unbearable, and Jack brings a hand to his face.

Claire takes him by the arm and leads him to a nearby pool, wades in, hands him a little tin containing a tiny bar of soap, a seldom-used luxury stolen from the barracks, no doubt. Claire lets him wash her hair, peels off wet clothes and urges him to tend to the rest of her. Jack traces soapy hands along her body, stopping at every bruise, every scratch, every scar. When they're finished, they scrub her clothes too, wring them out, lay them on a rock to let them dry.

She sleeps curled next to him that night, wrapped in a threadbare blanket underneath her shelter and the stars.

In the morning, she's calm again, she starts to make sense.

Jack kisses _her_ this time, his tongue tasting the salt from her lips, pressing further on, unafraid of what it means.

He's sure now that nothing has meaning anymore.

Not even this.

-

Jack gathers wood for their fire, walks alone in the jungle. It startles him when he sees the image of Jacob, a few yards away and watching him from between the leaves. It startles him, and then again it doesn't.

"I thought you were dead," Jack tells him.

"I am," Jacob says, offering no further explanation.

"Then why are you here?" Jack doesn't bother asking how.

"I wanted to give you a message," Jacob says. "I wanted to tell you to love her. Love her while you can."

"What does that mean?" he asks.

But Jacob is already gone.

-

During the next rainy season, Claire teases him, tells him she's been waiting for the perfect canvas. She undresses him and leads him to the ground, has him lie upon his belly. She straddles his back, uses fingertips and twigs to draw a muddy image onto bare flesh. Jack laughs when it tickles, asks her what she's doing. Her painting is of stars and moons, of the two of them together. She describes the scene, whispers it into his ear.

Jack rolls her over, careful not to ruin the image, not just yet, and pins her to the ground, covers her mouth with his. Claire helps him find the right place on top of her, her hands going to his ass, her thighs opening just so. When they start to move, and when the sounds they make fade into the jungle, as if two animals, the sky darkens and opens up. Heavy raindrops slide down Jack's shoulders and back, leaving a glistening wake and forever erasing Claire's handiwork.

She reaches for him, her hands going to his spine, wants to feel it wash away.

She calls out his name.

-

Claire often dreams of Esau. He comes to her, a tall, lanky man with kind eyes and salt-and-pepper hair. He tells her things she doesn't want to hear -- things that make her angry.

"I understand," he tells her. "Jacob was my brother too. I loved him as much as you love Jack, the same _way_ that you love Jack."

Claire pictures the two of them in her mind, Jacob and Esau, naked by a campfire, not unlike the one she shares with Jack. She refuses to look at him, crosses her arms.

"You can still be together, take care of each other. You'll still be you. Essentially," he says. The unspoken truth rings so clear that even Claire can hear it. _After a while you just won't want to anymore._

"I don't care," she tells him. "I don't care."

"Someone has to do it," he reasons. "There's a balance."

"You haven't told me why," she begs. "Why us?"

But Esau is already gone.

-

This is after -- after they no longer have any choice.

Jack watches Claire skinning a rabbit under a heavy leafy branch on the boulder next to his, her hands and wrists covered in blood, a calm, blank look on her face.

"No one's coming," he tells her, shakes his head. "Not yet."

"Haven't you figured it out?" she laughs, rinses the fresh meat in a bowl of water. "Esau told me it might take you a while."

"I will," he says. "Eventually."

Claire scoffs. "Do you have any idea how badly I'd like to kill you?" she tells him, tosses the bloody leftovers, head and all, into the trees at her side.

"I do," he says. "I'm sorry."

Claire meets his eyes. "Hungry?" she asks. "There's plenty."

"Maybe another time," he tells her. "Maybe another time."

 _-fin_


End file.
